


all manners of bad faith

by hoverbun



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Breeding, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, asahi suspiciously comes off as a power bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoverbun/pseuds/hoverbun
Summary: Asahi sas Brutus coils an eager hand around the Prince’s golden chain and pulls.
Relationships: Asahi sas Brutus/Zenos yae Galvus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	all manners of bad faith

**Author's Note:**

> this is written in dedication to neil, who is constantly providing me good food.
> 
> did you know asahi is apparently a year older than zenos? he’s going to cry about going grey and zenos not being into “older men”

Zenos holds his jaw as unkindly as he would a rebel, yet he twists Asahi’s head side to side in a thorough examination. Asahi touches his wrist, cherishing the gesture. He only hopes that his Lord does the same.

“Even your methods perplex me,” Zenos admits, “Those from your nation that had willingly joined Garlean rule do not curry such bold attention in the matter you do.”

Asahi’s eyes are wide and brilliant. “My worship is endless, my Lord.”

Nothing passes his Lord’s expression. But he already has the answer he suspected. “I shall assess your capability. My chambers, this evening. I invite you _personally.”_

* * *

His Lordship’s chambers are set and orderly, and do not match the grand reputation of the crown prince. Yet, even if they were adorned in silver walls and golden furniture and tall marble pillars, decorated with expensive paintings and holy swords alike, his eyes would fall upon nothing else but the radiant image his Lordship presents, undressed upon his bed.

He is nude, and it makes Asahi’s body weak. He feels that he must drop to the ground and prostrate himself with deep honour, press his mouth to the cold floor and revere his Excellency with tremendous apologies for even glancing upon such an immaculate form. An invitation is not enough to answer for what Asahi sees; the notion that his Lord Zenos calls specifically for him remains so unbelievable, he wonders if this is but one of a myriad of shameful and secret fantasies overrunning his thoughts now come to form, taunting him as dreams often do.

Asahi smiles so wide that his teeth chatter. Zenos must regard him as an overenthusiastic pup.

“My Lordship,” Asahi whispers.

“Undress,” comes the command instead, unwilling to converse. Zenos is completely flaccid as he lounges on his side, his perfect body a beautiful figure in the dark silk. Asahi’s hands are upon his uniform as his eyes remain fixated on Zenos’ figure. If the room were dark, and his Lord was cast in shadow, Asahi hopes the light from outside would show a handsome silhouette, perfectly framing his illustrious body.

His coat falls first. Then the cotton shirt underneath. There is a belt, and then his trousers. The way he steps out of them and his boots would embarrass him, if he were not brimming with such a zealous energy. His undergarments gather in the waist of his trousers, and Asahi stands, bold and nude, well aware of how the cool temperature now runs against his hot body. His cock hangs between his legs with a stirred attention. 

Zenos looks at him. He offers Asahi a cursory look, from knees to cock and waist to shoulders. Asahi wonders if he should pose. Anything to stir a want in his Lord. It is within that juvenile thought that then he wonders if his Lordship is impressed at all.

Asahi is far less of a man than Zenos — even among other soldiers, soldiers of his own _country_ , he is a man of narrow stature. He prefers battles of tongue and deception, after all. He is nothing before his Lord Zenos. He is secondary to his greatness. The tension that coils through his chest is swallowed firmly down. 

“What comes upon my Lord that he requests my presence?” Asahi asks, careful to carry both inquiry and praise. He would love nothing more than to crawl into Zenos’ bed and rest upon his broad chest. His legs just might give.

Zenos does not reply without sitting himself up. When he is seated, he is just barely taller than Asahi himself. His long blond hair spills down his shoulders, hanging down his chest as cold eyes observe what stands before him in offering. He rests his hands on his knees, and Asahi wonders if he should kneel and take his place between them. “You respond quickly and without question. Why change that now?”

The tension that could like a doubtful serpent remains tight in his chest. “I—… I only ask out of a genuine desire to understand your motivations. If it is displeasing, I will cease immediately.”

Zenos closes his eyes, as he does when he thinks. Otherwise, his expression remains vacant. Eventually, he lifts one hand to beckon Asahi forward. “Step forward.”

The uncertainty remains, yet it feels more like a trail of gasoline that ignites his skin, as Asahi steps into his Lordship’s space. The hand— both of his hands— are soon upon him, and Asahi cannot withhold the manner in which he gasps and becomes alert. Zenos’ hands are warm, warm like the sun that shines its light upon every ilm of land, claiming every surface and cornering every shadow. He touches Asahi’s hips, his chest, wide palms pressing his pectorals and his shoulders, firm and crushing and overwhelming. Asahi _wants_ to kneel. He wants to collapse and be embraced and be ravaged just with his Lord’s hands.

The way he is touched is unkind. Even he can recognize through the haze that swallows him. Zenos pushes and presses his skin, squeezing soft flesh and gripping tense muscle. His grip could bruise, his grip _will_ bruise, and Asahi will thank him. Zenos pulls him forward by his arms and then pushes on his hips, causing Asahi to stumble both forward and back. But he remains at attention, eyes closed and mouth opened.

Zenos pushes a hand between Asahi’s legs. With one palm, he cups his groin, dragging harshly up and gripping his cock. Asahi bites his lip to suck through his teeth and feels something burst beneath the skin. His cock is firm in Zenos’ hand and he is seeing stars.

“Is this all that dwells in the darkest points of your mind?” He asks, placid and calm. His grip on Asahi’s cock is agonizing. He pushes up, then cups down, a firm massage of his whole self. Asahi opens his bruised lip and answers with a moan. “To be groped as easily as common flesh, without mind for status or pride?”

Asahi’s head rolls to his shoulder. “Only— only by your hands, m—my Lordship.”

Zenos pulls up on Asahi’s groin, one hand gripping his balls in a crushing grasp. Asahi’s back arches and he tenses involuntarily, the wash of pain as intense as his need for Zenos’ hands all over him. The other hand of his Lord holds him by his hips, pressing his thumb firm into his stomach.

Zenos laughs. Low and like a secret. Asahi could melt. “You are as common as cattle after all. How disgusting.”

He drags Asahi close, who stumbles against his body and gasps with far sharper tones of pain. Asahi cannot tell if he’s hard yet. Only that his skin remains so warm. If his pitiful body could arouse his Lord Zenos, it would be an even greater honour than when his blade saved Asahi’s meagre life. Zenos pushes his hand hard between Asahi’s legs, the flush of electric pain making Asahi finally reach forward and grab his Lordship’s broad shoulders to brace himself as his legs give. It is greater than any gentle touch or myriad of kisses to his body. He needs only what Zenos wants from him.

“I yet have use for you,” Zenos says, as consolation. It feels like pity. Does his Lord know pity?

Asahi finds his strength to look upon his beautiful visage, with wide and open eyes and warmth all across his skin. “I am most honoured to be blessed with your attention.”

He wants to kiss him. Press his mouth all over his face, throat, jaw, down his chest and open his mouth around his cock, worship his thighs and calves and hands and wrists, every inch of his body. Zenos holds him by his hips once more, with heavy hands that squeeze his waistline.

Asahi finds himself grinning. His bruised lower lip feels warm against his teeth. “Does my Lord enjoy a giving, lithe body?”

Zenos looks down towards Asahi’s legs, at the way his cock stands firm. “You are _boyish._ Not yet cut by warrior’s mettle. There are very few men of the Empire like you.”

Asahi feels his words bloom in his chest like a compliment. “Does my Lord _enjoy_ a body like mine? Does it allow for thorough fantasy?”

A reaction. His head tilts. Curiosity. For the first time, Asahi holds an answer his Lord does not have. Cautiously — as if his movements would offend — he runs a hand down Zenos’ arms, admiring the sculpture of muscle, feeling his body ache at the permission. He finally reaches his Lord’s wrist, where his hand stays on his waist, and guides his open palm to Asahi’s navel.

“Forgive my presumptions,” Asahi continues, with a warm and heavy voice, “I only wish to show my appreciation. No— my _devotion._ What would you have me do next, my Lord?”

Zenos remains fixated on his own hand, where Asahi’s own lies overtop, dwarfed in comparison. He does not lift his head, but brings Asahi closer, twisting their bodies so that he carries him across and to the sheets. Asahi’s thoughts swim with how effortlessly Zenos moves him, as if he weighed as much as the sheets upon his bed. Asahi lays back as Zenos shadows him, and the way he stares down at him makes heat pool in his stomach.

What is it that stirred his interest? Was it the way Asahi cried? The way his body shook as Zenos crushed him? The way he spoke, offering himself so easily? Does his Lord’s mind run farther with ways he wishes to break him?

There is a corked vial pulled free and pressed to Asahi’s chest. He tucks his chin against his chest to look down. Zenos has lain his hand over the bottle, which is filled with oil that rolls against the glass and settles quite slowly. 

Zenos orders, “Prepare yourself,” and sits on his knees, leaning away. Asahi dutifully moves with a fervent urge of approval, pouring the liquid into his hands and reaching down between his legs, spreading them wide and messily preparing his hole. He works himself with his eyes flit upwards, breathing slow and heavy as he tries to present himself as handsome as he imagines himself to look, spread and hooking his fingers inside himself. 

He would love to feel his Lord Zenos’ hand push inside him, use his wrist in full rolls to open him up. His fingers could bruise him from the inside out, large and unfriendly, pushing deep inside and forcing Asahi to come before he’s even been filled. He opens himself up with three fingers, too much too quickly, but he wants Zenos to keep looking at him the way he is, unblinking and open. He sees something he can take. Not many can hold his Lord’s gaze for long. Not as long as him. No one else is like him. Asahi tries to present himself like something enticing. He hopes he is.

As with many things as it comes to his Lordship — Asahi wonders if his interest wanes just before Zenos finally moves, pulling Asahi’s hands from beneath his hips and smacking it away. He reaches for the oil he had given Asahi, and applies it to himself. He is quick with it, and betrays no note of pleasure as he runs his hand down his entire cock’s length. Asahi is uncertain of just where he wants to stare, yet he finds himself admiring how precise Zenos’ hands move, so it is his cock he finds himself staring at once more.

“You are too quick to satisfy,” Zenos says, without tremor to his voice. Asahi writhes with an urgency. “Too easy to read. There is little I could learn from you. Even less to gain. Loyalty and duty are all that sets you apart from many others.”

It makes his body tense, but he isn’t sure how different it is from how his body tensed from his depraved and hungry need for his Lordship’s attention. “Surely—I have not _failed_ you, my Lord…?”

Zenos blinks slowly. “You would not be breathing if you had.”

He reaches forward to Asahi’s shoulder with ease, pulling him up with one hand wrapped firm around him. His thumb presses to Asahi’s clavicle. The feeling plays over again in his mind, Zenos pulling Asahi up furiously each time, more unfriendly than the last. Zenos doesn’t need to touch Asahi’s chin to make him tilt his head back and watch him with reverence, but the way he moves his head leaves Asahi drowning in liquid heat.

“What is it you would give to me?” he asks. “Without hesitation or limitations?”

Asahi cannot look away. “A conquered Doma, whole and subdued.”

“I don’t care for a quiet nation. There is no pleasure in hunting a dead animal. Something else.”

He wonders if he does not speak, if Zenos would cut out his tongue. Yet he knows his Lord would only do so if he failed him, and that consideration shakes Asahi awake, cold and alert. He thinks of how his Lord touched him— “A legacy.”

Zenos’ head tilts, and his hair spills down. “Describe it to me,” he orders, with a heavier voice. The way it strains when he catches scent of the Hunt. He wonders if he’s uncovered something deeper, that only he will be privy to.

Asahi smiles wide enough to make his jaw hurt. “I would carry your precious heir. Even with seed from a man as illustrious and powerful as you are, I would summon the strength to bear a child worthy of your bloodline.”

Zenos takes him and turns him over, flipped with such a tremendous ease that Asahi yelps and braces himself against the pillow he falls against. He turns his head over his shoulder and watches his Lord take his lower body, a hand firm on his back and the other on his hip. The arch he creates is perfect, and it makes Asahi groan out loud.

“As if we were animals,” Asahi continues breathlessly, which earns him a vicious scratch against his hip. _“Yes,_ my Lord, yes, _mount_ me!”

His body is breached, with Zenos pushing his weight down to slot his hips against the curve of Asahi’s rear. The sound he makes is unholy, a tremendous groan of his master’s name as he pulls Asahi’s hips up to drive inside him. Zenos is soon over him, his golden hair spilling down and hanging all around Asahi’s own face and hair, with a snarl that tells Asahi his teeth are clenched. He moves furiously and violently, crushing him with every unkind thrust and seeking what fantasy Asahi had only teased with.

Sentences shatter to fragments with how harsh each snap of Zenos’ hips are, leaving Asahi only with strangled words, interrupted with an intermission of praise. He tries to support himself with his arms, braced half under the pillow he landed on to give him a way to breathe. Zenos fills him so well and thorough that each strike drags hard against the corner that makes him whimper.

Zenos’ hand has rejoined his other, crushing Asahi’s trim waist. One snakes down to his stomach. “If you _could,_ couldn’t you?”

“If only I _could,”_ Asahi replies, voice hollow and shuddering. “If I _could,_ my Lord, I’d give you the _perfect son—”_

Zenos’ hips stutter only once, but it is enough to make Asahi come hard into their sheets, hollowing himself through the fact he could cause his Lord to stumble so suddenly, and so blatantly. He drops from his arms and wails into the pillow, pressing himself back as desperately as he can. Zenos does not relent, his passionate fury as steady and endless as the sun’s own rays, and he continues his thrusts.

Asahi feels flushed and used, as if his whole body was made of some foreign material that made him burn both within and without. Zenos lifts his hips higher, and presses down into Asahi with every motion, and through the haze does Asahi hear him grunting, furious and depraved, relishing in the skin and the contact and how beautiful it would be to sow deep inside Asahi. The very thought makes Asahi feel his spent cock stir to life, like a pulse of blood from a split lip.

Zenos strokes his stomach, not his cock; Asahi finds he doesn’t mind, not if it allows his prince to dream of filling him deep and ensuring nothing goes to waste. His cock feels sensitive from his orgasm, and he knows his body is still only half alert. He lifts his head, and he looks back at Zenos. He is met with a firm hand pressing him down by his hair, to which he grunts before speaking.

“And if nothing _catches,_ you could fuck me, again and again,” he says, with a wide grin and a shaking voice.

He makes Zenos clench his jaw harder and move even quicker, finding just the right point of the fantasy before he falls apart. Undeterred, Asahi says— “I would ask you to finish inside me, every night, e— _eager_ for your strength to overtake me—”

—And it snaps what little restraint remained, something inhuman and raw, manifesting as Zenos crushing his entire weight into Asahi so firm he loses his breath and strains beneath him. His Lord’s teeth find his shoulder’s flank and bites down into it, as Asahi can feel Lord Zenos come deep inside him, with low rolls of his hip to empty everything within. Asahi knows he breaks skin when there is a sharp flash of pain and his body barely shudders, a suffocated sob as Zenos’ body falls still and he leans on to his arms and sits up. Asahi can breathe, which he does so desperately.

Zenos’ hips roll slow, errant and deep, as if to wring himself empty. Asahi presses himself back, looking to match his languid movements, to coax his second finish out of himself. He fucks himself on Zenos’ cock, rubbing his own against the sheets that have bunched up beneath him, and he feels strangled and relieved when he presses back and comes for a second time, spilling across his first orgasm.

Though spent and satisfied, Zenos does not yet pull himself out. Asahi feels his head swim with the implication. Even through the fantasy’s end, he finds himself warm by association. His Lord _wants_ him, even for a fleeting moment, as an unobtainable vessel. 

He pulls himself out of Asahi, one hand reaching low to stroke his sensitive cock. Immediately, Asahi misses how full he felt, satiated and complete. There is enough space between his body and Zenos’ that he can roll over, sore all across. He feels a dampness on his shoulder, and something wet smeared across his skin. A thin circle of blood, from where his Lordship bit down. How divine, to be marked and bred so thoroughly.

Zenos wordlessly moves from shadowing Asahi, slipping from the bed and fetching himself a long white robe. Asahi curls himself in bed, relishing in how sore he feels. He lounges against the pillow he had been bracing himself against, and admires the way Zenos moves around his chambers, collecting whatever he needs to present himself to the public once more.

He looks to Asahi before he opens a large door, no doubt where he will bathe, alone. “You will not sleep here. Return to your own chambers before I am finished.”

Asahi’s smile is genuine, brilliant and bright and reverent as ever, but he knows it is coy. “As you command, Lord Zenos.”


End file.
